Strange Beyond Belief
by ladipretender
Summary: Though Shawn knew deep down that his harrowing ordeal that had been centered around an extremely unlikely object wasn't over, he didn't expect the resulting events to play out in such an unbelievable way. When an old lady asks the duo to track down her nephew, Shawn suddenly finds himself in an eerily familiar situation, but this time, he's on his own in a strange city..Or is he?
1. Chapter 1

So, this story, aptly named Strange Beyond Belief, pretty much picks up where Beyond the Strange Chance left off, and was actually never supposed to exist…it's only through a rather intriguing review by Nikers13, on psychfic that got the wheels in my head turning, and the never ending support (as well as the motivation stick) of TiTB that this has come to be. And who knows, what might be next ;)

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Chapter 1: All the Small Things, True Care Truth Brings, Watching, Waiting, Commiserating

_I am __**so **__totally finding a place closer to town when I am finally 'released for good behavior,' _Shawn silently grumbled from his seat on the porch, scuffing his sneakered foot in a figure eight pattern on the worn floorboards in sheer boredom as he tried to ignore tell-tale signs he was getting sick. For the past three days, Shawn had been doing everything in his power to either outright hide or at least down play the stuffy nose, splitting headache and scratchy throat that, despite his best efforts with the filched cold medicine from the cabinet, had proceeded to get worse with each passing hour.

For the most part, he felt he'd been mostly successful, but if he didn't get out of here soon, his father was going pick up on his symptoms and then Shawn would be lucky if he wasn't smothered with every blanket in the house while being plied with an entire ocean of Chicken Noodle soup. Especially now that his 'warden' had managed to foil yet another brilliant escape attempt with Gus, the fourth one in less than a week, that would have made him feel at least marginally in control of the situation. In addition to the helpless feeling, the recovering man was actually at a loss of exactly what in the world he was supposed to be doing with his abundant free time, so he simply allowed his mind wander for the moment.

_Somewhere I can walk or take a bus if necessary...and it might not be a bad idea if the area were a bit more populated, since it's quite likely that this whole fiasco isn't over,_ he reluctantly acknowledged as he scanned the boardwalk, shifting position and beginning to idly drum the fingers of his right hand on the table in front of him. And those five words, though so simple in theory, were quite likely why Shawn was going so completely stir crazy at his dad's.

Though everything had been quiet in the thirteen days since Rye had been arrested and his partner, Rind, had given the Santa Barbara Police Department a statement claiming they had been after the painting for nothing more than its design, Shawn was far from convinced that the whole story had been revealed. _And I'm fairly to pretty damn sure that Dad feels the same way, no matter how much he's choosing to deny it..._Shawn reasoned, shooting a glance at his father's back where he had reentered the house through the kitchen after Gus drove off, movements rigid as he worked. The elder Spencer had been on edge since forcing Shawn to come and stay with him ten days prior, and the younger man knew his father well enough to know that the tension present in the house had to do with so much more than their run of the mill butting of heads.

_This is __**so**__ much more complex than that_, he reasoned before forcing himself to change gears and focus on the task ahead. Mainly the fact that Psych _finally _had taken on a private, as well as _paying_, customer..._Though at this rate, I'll be lucky if Warden Norton even allows me to get out there and investigate it..._He grumbled, knowing that he and Gus were supposed to leave for Ridgecrest in less than 48 hours. The ringing of his iPhone, which he had only gotten back from Jules earlier in the week, interrupted Shawn's thoughts and caused his brow to furrow in confusion when he saw who was calling.

Heart sinking when he acknowledged the only reason Gus would be calling so soon after driving off had to do with his other job, which never boded well for Shawn's plans, he never the less hit the accept button and greeted his best friend in a cheerful voice, "Hey, buddy, miss me already?" The guilty silence on the other end immediately convinced Shawn he wasn't going to like this news one bit.

"_No, Shawn," _Gus responded in irritation, "_There's actually something I ha-" _the unmistakable sounds in the background confirmed the brunette's suspicion.

"Are you at the _airport?!"_ He exclaimed in shock, _This is going to be worse than I had originally thought..._

"_Yes, I was just ordered to catch Flight 221 to Seattle, to attend the lectures at a different conference to make up for leaving the Pharmacology for Advanced Practice Clinician conference early," _Gus exclaimed with a sigh.

"Dude! They can't make you fly all the way to _**Alabama**_ to go to a freaking conference!" he demanded, trying to figure out if his best friend was merely pulling his leg. _I have to admit, if it's a prank, he's definitely got me going..._

"_It's in __**Washington **__state, Shawn, and no, you haven't heard it both ways,"_ Gus cut in before the other man could make the predicted statement, causing Shawn to roll his eyes on his end of the phone. _"But, yes my bosses have __**every **__right to tell me I have to attend a conference or else I could lose my job. I didn't even get enough notice to have a chance to pack any luggage to bring with me," the salesman remarked in exasperation, "But I will be back late tomorrow, so I can still drive out to meet you in Ridgecrest late Friday."_

"No, don't worry about it, Gus," Shawn assured his best friend, "I can go and see what, if anything, I am able to ferret out, and I'll bring you up to speed when I get back to Santa Barbara." After all, he didn't _want_ Gus to lose his job, no matter how boring he happened to find being a pharmaceutical salesman, if only because it meant a lot to the other man.

"_Are you __**sure**__?" _Gus asked, a touch of confusion and concern evident in his voice at his friend's uncharacteristic behavior.

"Of course I'm sure, Gus..." Shawn insisted confidently, "Listen, just have a nice of a trip as you can listening to boring presentations on drugs, and that, my friend, is an order," he said in a mockingly stern tone.

There was a moment of silence before the other man answered, "_OK...but can you do me a favor and keep me posted on anything, Shawn? And I do mean__** anything**__,..."_

Knowing his best friend was still reeling from his kidnapping, disappearance from the ambulance, and near strangulation at the hands of Rye at the hospital, Shawn quickly agreed, "You got it, Gus," A_fter all, I can send lots of boring texts, I do have an unlimited plan..."Thanks.,"_ he replied before a noise came over the line, "_Sorry, Shawn, that's my boarding call so I've gotta go," _the salesman finished, hanging up before Shawn could say anything else.

"Bye, buddy," he said softly before putting the iPhone back on the table, an uneasy feeling over the recent turn of events settling in Shawn's stomach the longer he sat there. Telling himself he was simply letting everything get to him, Shawn shook his head and sighed as he got to his feet, grabbing the cell phone with his right hand as he headed into his father's house.

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_Sometimes I swear that kid forgets exactly __**who**__ taught him everything he knows, _Henry thought with a small head shake as he made lunch, covertly watching his son enter the living room from the back porch and flop on the couch from his spot in the kitchen. _Usually he would have been all over something so obvious, _the elder Spencer thought, deciding to let it slide for now as he reasoned,_ The kid must still be recovering from his concussion if he hasn't figured out all that cold medicine he's been taking was put there after Gus told me that he noticed Shawn was getting sick..._

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_One criminal offense, two felonies, and...__**fifteen**__ misdemeanors?! What in the name of Sweet Lady Justice is the world coming to? _Head detective Carlton Lassiter wondered as he finished sorting through the rest of the reports from the Canary that had been neglected on his desk after the bizarre events surrounding Spencer's latest brush with death. _And here I thought the events of that day at the hotel were weird, _he thought with a snort, _Well it turned out to be downright normal compared to the way the rest of the week went..._Unfortunately, recalling that strange turn of events only served to hammer home the fact that, despite repeated attempts on the lanky man's part, he hadn't been able to bring himself to thank the pain in the ass that called himself O'Hara's boyfriend.

_But there's just no escaping the fact that the man has proven to have at least __**one **__redeeming quality by repeatedly watching over __**your **__partner when you weren't there to do so, _the little voice, that had been incessantly taunting him ever since the woman in question had bowled him over with her statements in the hospital parking lot, started in again. Though Lassiter longed with every fiber of his being to be able to deny to his dying breath that there would ever _**any **_reason to admit Spencer was useful, he couldn't deny the truth when it was so plainly in front of him in black and white.

_It's probably going to come back to bite me in the butt not just humbling myself and thanking him when the man-child was unable to speak last week, _he admitted with a grimace, _**Now, **__I'll be lucky if I __**ever**__ hear the end of it, _he thought with a heavy sigh, trying to rub away the headache that had seemingly become a constant part of his life since the man had waltzed into the station almost seven years ago. _If I'd have known then what I know now, would I have still made the same choice about believing his ridiculous claim about solving crimes by watching Channel 8, or hell even Channel 5, News? _As far-fetched as that sounded, the head detective had to admit that it wasn't any less likely than the consultant _actually _being a psychic...in fact, it was probably _**more**_ believable when it was all said and done.

Shaking his head when he realized he'd been staring off into space for the past ten minutes instead of taking the last of the reports down to the file room, Lassiter glanced around the nearly deserted bullpen to ensure no one had seen him woolgathering, satisfied that his moment of weakness had gone unnoticed as he got up from his desk and headed for the file room, reports in hand, only to have his gaze land on the atrocious painting that was tucked halfway behind the metal. _I had almost forgotten that Spencer actually __**wants **__that thing back, _he realized, _Though __**who in the hell knows why**__...it's completely useless and nothing more than an eyesore, _rolling his eyes as he completed his task, really wishing he could just toss the ruined canvas in the dumpster out back and plead ignorance when the pain in the ass tried to track it down. Except the chief had left explicit instructions to return it to the psychic, and the station was equipped with an overabundance of high end security cameras, both facts that left the lanky man no choice but to follow the chief's orders.

Twenty minutes and a scaldingly hot cup of coffee later, the head detective knew he was feeling as human as he was likely to before heading to Henry's house where, according to O'Hara, who had gotten out of the unpleasant task by having to testify in court while Lassiter caught up on paperwork, Spencer Junior was staying. Grabbing the painting, he reasoned, _Might as well bite the bullet and get this over with...no matter how painful it might be. After all, it could hardly be more painful than having to cart this hideous thing around in public again…_

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Reviews are like figuring out you're going to write a sequel…to a story you haven't even finished yet—inspiring and just a bit daunting, but completely worth it in the end, and completely loved ;)


	2. Should have thought this through and fin

Though I have several OCs in this work, I am merely borrowing the world of Psych, and its amazing characters as a setting in order for this to make some sense ;) In other words, they aren't mine, so don't sue me, because I own absolutely nothing, except maybe my good name…and I really shouldn't write these things with a headache xD

Chapter 2: Should've Thought Things through and Finding out that Cheating gets it Faster.

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"Good, just make sure everything is in place and that it's all going to go smoothly," Pamela Alinksky, more well known by the single name 'Potter', ordered, inspecting her $2,500 manicure for the slightest imperfection, whether real or imagined, as the response from the person on the other end caused her to frown. "No, I want _**you**_ there to ensure any problems that could possibly arise are dealt with immediately. It's time to end this...Yes, well, I certainly wasn't willing to have him peg anyone else," she bit out, outraged that her decision was being questioned, "Unless someone can tell me how the hell he managed to do it in the first place, this discussion is over. In 48 hours, it will all be moot anyway, just make sure you're ready to fly out within the hour to oversee this personally. And Ricardo," Potter said quietly, causing the man to pause as he waited for the other shoe to fall, "I'm sure this goes without saying, but..._don't screw this up, or it'll be your head..._"

Actually resisting the urge to let the offending instrument fly once she'd ended the call, the forty seven year old, though she'd kill anyone who'd admit to knowing her true age since she certainly didn't _look _it, glanced around her Chicago penthouse with a disinterested eye. To the casual observer, it might seem like the redhead lived a charmed life, but the tough as nails executive knew what she wanted and she went for it; and in this case she wanted this damn thing over already. A strong woman who believed that, while other people were weak enough to wait until their desires came to them, the world would give her what she wanted through sheer strength and stamina, and in some cases a bit of physical persuasion.

That was how she'd married an extremely powerful man at the age of 25, took over his business and entire empire when he'd fallen ill fewer than ten years later, and possessed the power to strike fear into the most hardy of souls. _Except one, _Potter thought with a grimace as Ellery Griffin entered the room. Though only related by marriage, Potter and Phoenix, as he was called, had forged a bond closer than even the most devote siblings, with mutual respect and brutal honesty. He was one of the few people ever to say no to her and live to tell the tale, and he never pulled his punches when he disagreed with a decision she'd made. _Obviously, now is one of those times..._she mused, taking in the determined look on his tanned face.

The lean and muscular fifty year old studied his sister-in-law for a moment before remarking, "Are you sure that this ridiculously elaborate plan is going to work?" his steely green eyes a marked contrast to his dyed jet black locks as he sought any answers her body language might reveal.

"Trust me darling, I've got everything worked out perfectly," Potter assured him, her sugary sweet tone hiding nothing from the man who'd known her for more than twenty years.

"Well, it had better," he shot back dryly, "Because the last attempt was nothing short of a veritable disaster and we can't afford to attract anymore undue attention to our activities," he finished with a stern look, the iron clad will shining through her blue eyed glare having no effect on him. "Come off it, Potts," Phoenix continued in a calmer tone, "We lost two of our most versatile men in the Drinfelds, and didn't even manage to regain our property through it all. Of course I'm going to caution you on this. You've always been impulsive, leaping first without ever bothering to look, and many, many times it's worked to our advantage, so much so that I have often looked the other way despite your methods but," he held up a hand to forestall the inevitable outburst, "I just don't think this is the kind of situation you want to do that in. The more looking we do, the more evidence I find that this guy is a highly respected, if unconventional, consultant and if this backfires, it's both our asses."

"Oh, never worry, _dearling,_" she answered with a smirk, knowing just how much he hated that particular endearment, "I've got it all worked out, including all the possible contingencies. By the time anyone even _realizes_ he's gone," Phoenix simply shook his head, "It's going to be _**WAY **_too late for anyone to actually do a damn thing about it...In fact, they'll be lucky if they ever find the body..."

Head and casted wrist throbbing in unison, Shawn retreated out of his father's house as if the hounds of hell were on his heels, bounding down the porch steps and heading down the beach with nothing more on his mind than to put some distance between himself and the cause of his distress. _There are a great many things that I never want to know about my dad, and __**any**__ indication, no matter how small, that he might have a love life is at the top of that list, as is the possibility that the affection might actually be appreciated..._Shawn thought with a grimace, recalling the familiar feminine voice that had drifted through the house to his spot on the porch like a siren's call, causing him to get out of his seat to investigate and almost leading him to his demise. The faux psychic was exceedingly grateful that he'd only caught the merest glimpse of what was transpiring in the other room, and even though he was almost certain his father had been attempting to discourage, and not encourage, the overly friendly nurse, he wasn't about to stick around to find out for sure. _That split second was __**sooooo**__ much more than I ever needed to see in ten lifetimes…_

Though, if he were honest with himself, Shawn knew he really had no one but himself to blame for the new acquired bruise forming over his left eyebrow. _A bruise that hopefully no one happens to notice bears a striking resemblance to the edge of my cast,_ he admitted sorely, _I damn near knocked myself out by doing that..._Reaching up to touch the tender spot, he immediately stopped when he belatedly realized that his hand wasn't empty. Glancing down in confusion, Shawn blinked a few times before it finally dawned on him that he must have grabbed the painting Lassie had brought back yesterday in his mad dash to get out of there. Deciding not to look into _how_ he'd blocked out that event too closely, Shawn paused to take a moment to orient himself, deciding he might as well make his final destination Psych, since he had started off that direction without realizing it.

The worst part about walking long distances down the beach while carting a warped, waterlogged, and wrecked painting was neither the strange looks he received nor the uneven terrain that hindered his progress, Shawn silently admitted 20 minutes later, but the seemingly unlimited amount of time to reason everything out in his head. Refusing to even _contemplate_ what in the world his father and that woman were _giggling,_ for crying out loud, about in the kitchen, because then he really _would _knock himself unconscious, and on purpose this time, Shawn forced himself to think about Psych's latest client, a woman who could easily be one of the most unique customers the detective duo could ever had, and considering some of the cases they had taken, that was saying something.

"_Gus," Shawn hissed as the old woman sat at his desk, absentmindedly poking at the array of items strewn across it. "Estelle Getty is in __**our **__office," seeing if he could get his best friend's attention...Though he was well aware that Estelle Getty had passed away in recent years, the woman in the office could easily pass as her twin. The dark skinned man eventually looked up from the sandwich he was making and gave his best friend an exasperated look, before glancing toward the desk where the woman was seated and then back to the sandwich, shaking his head._

"_I'm sorry Shawn, I just don't see it..."_

"_I __**can**__ hear you, you bachagaloops!" the tiny statured woman pointed out, her powerful voice belying her small stature, never once looking up from her perusal._

_And from there, the visit hadn't gotten any less bizarre_, Shawn admitted with a small smile. From her caustic, "_Excuse me boys,_ _did I give you any indication at all that I care?"_ in response to Gus's frantic attempt at a stuttered explanation, sandwich forgotten in front of him, to her story itself.

Estelle Arthur, as she had introduced herself moments later, had come to the psychic detective hoping he might be able to shed some light on where her only living relative, a nephew named Brett Hollingsworth, might be. As she'd explained, they'd had a falling out and she wanted to be able to mend the rift before it was too late. Estelle had even been able to furnish them with a last known address, she just needed someone to find out if he was still in that area, and as she put it, "_Who better than a psychic and his sidekick, who wouldn't have to physically confront Brett?"_ because apparently the woman didn't know if her nephew would still be upset with her. _Must have been a pretty epic fight, _Shawn reasoned, immediately reminded of a similar blow out, years ago.

She hadn't even seemed put out when the two men exchanged a speaking look before Shawn carefully answered, "_Well, Estelle, if I may call you that, it doesn't exactly work that way..."_ shrugging it off and offering to provide transportation and lodging while they checked it out. _And then she finished by paying us a sizable deposit in __**cash**__,_ he thought, knowing he still had a ways to go before he would reach the office.

Glancing down at the painting, Shawn let himself think about the other piece of news he'd received, this time when the chief had showed up out of the blue to visit him in the hospital. Even now, remembering the information, and the way he had been able to correctly finish Chief Vick's drawn out statement, filled him with dread. Though the blonde's topic wasn't much of a surprise, and he really hadn't known the man very well, considering he'd only worked at the resort for a few days, having his suspicions confirmed that Roger Righte was dead, and not simply dead but almost certainly viciously murdered, put a whole new spin on his theory that this wasn't over, and that it might in fact be just beginning. Letting all the facts sink in as he trudged along, Shawn took a calming breath and simply allowed his mind to wander for the remainder of the trip to Psych.

_Now it's time to figure out what __**exactly **__about this ridiculous thing is worth killing for..._Shawn vowed as he finally saw the office front come into view, sincerely hoping those two _really _didn't go to such an incredible amount of trouble for something as ridiculous as a complete lack of taste. _Because as far as ugly goes, you really can't get much worse than this monstrosity..._not that Shawn was willing to delve too far into _why _he'd ended up with the canvas in the first place, "Who'd have thought one innocuous comment would result in such a strange turn of events," he commented softly, checking the surrounding area before approaching the front door.

Letting himself into the office, he propped the painting on one of the wing chairs before heading into the small kitchen, hoping that Gus had remembered to refill the ice cube tray from the _last_ time Shawn had raided it for first aid purposes, as well as other, more fun endeavors. _We really need to get another tray, so I can finally make pineapple juice ice cubes without Gus freaking out, _he thought opening the freezer to find nothing but the empty tray, "No pineappley goodness for me, apparently," Shawn remarked with a sigh, "And just my luck, no ice either..."

Closing the freezer door without bothering to refill the tray, Shawn grabbed the painting and laid it face up on his desk, studying the sturdy but inexpensive wooden frame closely. When he had first laid eyes on the canvas at the resort, the inch and a half piece of wood had been stained a rich mahogany color, but years of storage, and neglect, the faux psychic admitted with a sigh, had dulled the once beautiful finish, leaving it distressed and worn. The painting itself had, prior to its trip into the ditch and subsequent swim, weathered the years worlds better, suffering only some minor fading and a few frayed threads. "And now look at it," he uttered, tracing his good hand over the gaping hole his father had made in the waterlogged and severely damaged canvas, Shawn sighed and turned it over to inspect the back. Though at first glance, his perusal appeared to be a waste of time because _nothing _seemed out of the ordinary, Shawn noticed an extremely slight unevenness on the far corner of the canvas. Sliding that side closer to him in order to inspect it in greater detail, he confirmed that there was a bump, albeit a tiny one, between the canvas and the stretcher frame.

Removing the spring clips, Shawn freed the fabric from the wooden frame, setting it on its side as he ran his fingers over the raised section, reasoning that it would be just about the right size to be either a coin or maybe a piece of metal, like a small key. "Now, just need to figure out how to get this off the frame," he mused, examining the underside until he found the stapled fabric. Giving it an experimental one handed tug proved futile since the uppermost fifth of the canvas actually managed to escape the worst of the water damage, and the deterioration that came with it, so the hazel eyed man went in search of the tool box Gus tried to keep hidden from him. _Shouldn't take me __**too **__long to find it, _Shawn thought, but frowned when he was still empty handed ten minutes later.

_Where in the hell did Gus hide all of the tools in the office __**this **__week? _Shawn wondered as he rummaged through the remaining cabinet, hoping he wouldn't have to get _too _creative to figure out how to remove that heavy staple. "You stab yourself with _one _screwdriver..." he muttered when his search came up empty, only to have his eyes land on the letter opener stuck in the cup on his desk. "What the hell, it's worth a shot..."

Twenty minutes, and several newly coined explicit words later, Shawn finally managed to work the staple loose enough to slide the object out, causing it to land with a metallic thud on his wooden desk. "Well now, _**that's**_ definitely a reason to invest considerable time and effort into tracking down such a ridiculous painting," he commented, palming the old coin and flipping it over to inspect the other side. _Confederate States of America, hmmm? Too bad Gus got called away to that make up conference last minute, _Shawn thought, unsure if he would even consider letting his best friend see this particular coin, focusing for a moment on who else might have a clue. _Wait a minute, I know __**exactly**__ who'd be the authority on old coins, and he's in the perfect position to help me out...but will he actually come here if I ask him to?_

Figuring there wasn't an easier way to find out, Shawn grabbed the office phone and dialed a familiar number, hoping the other man would answer when he saw the number, and, one ring before going to voicemail, the annoyed voice on the other end bit out, "_**What**__?_"

"Hey, I need you to do me a smallish favor..."

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Reviews are just love…especially after banging my head against my desk, whether it was physically or mentally…and you know, mentally doing it is at least 10x more painful than actually doing it…


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